Chapter 11: Hometown Folks

The winter continued to be colder than usual, and by mid-February there still was no sign that the deep drifts of snow that had piled up along the roadways and sidewalks were getting any lower; cars still were hidden by the huge drifts, causing many intersection accidents as drivers were unable to see around the piles. Many drivers tied flags of one type or the other — ranging from red bandannas or fluorescent pink ribbons to Green Bay Packer banners — to their radio antennas so that their cars would become visible over the piled snow.

The University continued to be a busy beehive of activity, the students and faculty having adjusted to the cold, many even walking with their coats open as temperatures might sometimes rise into the 20s, constituting a “warming trend” in the words of the television weather guys and girls.

Karen’s work for Professor Fenstrom increased in intensity as the call for auditions went out for the University Players spring production of William Inge’s “Picnic.” It was Karen’s job to assemble the applications for auditions and set up appointments and schedules.

Thankfully, Karen found the professor to be the model of decorum. Not once since her warning to him that she did not want his sexual attentions had he gone beyond normal professional behavior. Yet, she sensed his desires to hold her and perhaps even take her into his bed were still lurking, restrained most likely by her statement that she’d make his behavior public and thus ruin his career.

Her friend Heather, who had the lead part in last autumn’s play, confided to Karen that the professor had wanted sex with her and had even threatened at one point to replace her in the part. Karen remembered the time during rehearsals when Fenstrom had badgered Heather continually, reducing the girl to tears and so weakening her confidence that she became a bundle of nervous hesitation on stage. Karen had pleaded with Fenstrom at the time to loosen his heavy hand of direction on the girl, for the sake of the play. (Ironically, Karen would have been the likely replacement for Heather; yet, she knew it wasn’t time for her to be front stage, since her transition into girlhood was just beginning.)

Heather had learned of Karen’s intervention on her behalf and knew it had been critical; she thanked Karen and then confessed that the harassment began after she refused sex with the professor. “I thought he was going to hound me out of the part because I confronted him,” she told Karen. “But I think he realized that both the play and his job might be lost. You helped put some sense into the old lecher.”

“He was so unfair to you, Heather,” Karen said.

Professor Fenstrom, when he persuaded Karen to take the work-study assignment, told her that she’d still be in line for a key part in the spring production, perhaps even in the key part as Millie, the teenage sister. It was a part that seemed so attractive, and that Karen honestly felt she could do with great success. Even so, Karen was determined not to use her unique sexual situation to influence the professor’s decision-making.

She enjoyed the work of assisting the professor, who truly was a top-rate director and teacher. The man was a consummate professional, Karen felt, and she had begun to feel that he was relying more and more upon Karen to assist in his decisions involving the production.

“You have the keen sense of drama, dear,” he told her one day as they discussed possible staging ideas.

It was a moment when Karen felt like kissing the man. She realized that she relished his praise, and always wanted to please him. It was a dangerous attitude, she knew, since it could lead her to compromise her professionalism. Karen also wondered if she truly desired his sexual attention as well, even as she had refused him. Her own promiscuity was beginning to trouble her. Was she just another slut?

*****
“Mom, that’s great. I’m so happy you and Sonny are coming down for the tournament,” Karen said into the phone.

She had been following her high school alma mater basketball team’s progress, since it traditionally had been one of the better programs in the state, often qualifying as one of the eight finalists in the State Tournament. This year, while the team floundered early in the season, it picked up steam and qualified again.

Sonny was not on the team, but he had many friends among the basketball players, and he pleaded to be able to follow the team to the tournament.

“I didn’t want to send him down there with a bunch of classmates, Karen,” Cecilia Hansson told her daughter. “He’s still only 15, and I know what kind of mischief kids can get into on their own.”

Karen giggled. “I know, mom. I’ve heard you were no angel when you came down here in high school.”

“Now Karen, that’s only a rumor,” she said, also laughing.

“OK, mom, we know, do as I say, not as I do, right?”

“Right, and don’t forget it, Karen.”

The repartee was good-natured, but Karen knew in her heart that her mother was right. There was no reason why the kids had to repeat the mistakes of their parents; it was on just such a trip that she took — with no chaperons — to an earlier state basketball tournament that her mother met their father, resulting in the failed marriage, and pregnancy at an early age for Cecelia. Their mother never expressed resentment toward her children, whom she dearly loved and cared for; yet, the truth was it had stopped her from getting to college until far later in life.

Karen knew, too, that the conversation reflected upon her own behavior, which appeared to be leading her in the direction of promiscuity.

Cecelia Hansson and Sonny arrived on campus on a Thursday afternoon, in time for the three Hanssons to have an early supper at the restaurant within the nearby Capitol Hotel, where they were staying. Several other families from their city were also staying at the same hostelry, many of whom knew the Hansson’s. While Karen’s transition was not a secret, it had not be advertised, and Karen knew that many might wonder who that young lady was who was seated with Cecelia Hansson and her younger son.

“Oh my God, sis, you’re so pretty,” Sonny said, clearly impressed by his sister’s appearance.

Karen hugged both of them, though Sonny backed off quickly, no doubt worried that he might get teased by some of his friends. Karen smiled at his behavior, forgiving her brother for his abruptness, remembering how easily a teenager becomes worried about what his friends might think. Certainly a tough young footballer like Sonny shouldn’t be seen in public being too huggy, even with a sister.

“Thanks, Sonny, but I didn’t have time to change, since I came right from work. I got off an hour early,” she explained.

“Well you look pretty, dear,” her mother said. “You could probably be a ‘knock-out’ in a burlap sack, too.”

“Now, mom, don’t exaggerate.”

As they awaited their food, Cecelia Hansson ordered a glass of chardonnay for herself, while Sonny ordered a milkshake and Karen a pot of herbal tea. Karen was describing her work with the professor, when a woman approached the table. Karen thought she’d faint on the spot. The woman was Tiffany Thompson, whose husband Hank had operated the neighborhood pharmacy until selling out to one of the big drugstore chains; the families had become close through the years, particularly since Karen (when she was Kenny) often chummed with their son, Henry, Jr., known to his friends as “H. T.”

Tiffany was known as a No. 1 gossip, and Karen’s own identity change had occurred so recently, it was not generally known in the community.

“Cecelia, I thought that was you!” gushed Tiffany as she pounced upon them.

“Oh, hi Tiffany, down for the tournament?”

“What else? Our Melanie is one of the cheerleaders,” Tiffany said, keeping her eye focused on Karen as she talked.

“Of course, it should be a good game,” Cecelia said.

“I know Sonny, of course. Hi, Sonny,” she said, nodding to Karen’s brother, who looked like he’d like to bolt the table and this nosy woman.

“Let me introduce my daughter, Karen,” Cecelia said quickly, apparently hoping to head off the woman’s inquiry before it got too involved.

“Your daughter? I didn’t know you had a . . . ah . . . oh my God . . . it’s Kenny isn’t it? I thought I recognized the face. Oh my God.”

The woman’s voice grew in volume, drawing the attention of the nearby tables, and half of the wait staff.

Karen stood up, holding out her hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Thompson.”

The woman took her hand, still taken aback by Karen’s greeting, so outward and confident. Karen, however, was not feeling the same confidence, and instead was hiding her uneasiness at the situation.

Tiffany recovered quickly, saying: “Nice meeting you . . . ah . . . again. What is it, Karen?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The woman turned and beckoned to a man and a girl in a team jacket. She boomed out: “Oh, Hank, Melissa, come meet the Hansson’s and their daughter, Karen.”

She emphasized the “Karen” in her loud, raucous voice.

Hank and Melissa joined them and introductions were made; Sonny and Melissa knew each other, of course, and grunted “hi’s” to each other.

“Did you know, Hank that Karen here used to be Kenny? What do you think of that?” Her voice took on a critical tone.

“Oh mother,” Melissa interrupted. “The whole school heard of that. So what. I think she’s pretty, mom.”

“What? Why didn’t I know?”

“Oh, mom, it’s no big deal. Nice meeting you as Karen,” the girl said, moving to hug Karen.

Hank Thompson moved in to the table, clearly concerned over the fuss that his boisterous, nosey wife had made. He said: “Yes, Tiffany. Let’s let this nice family enjoy their dinner. Nice seeing you again Cecelia, and Sonny and you, Karen.”

Karen let out a sigh of relief when they finally left. She could see many at the nearby tables who had observed the conversation were now observing her closely, and buzzing among themselves; at least one older couple shook their heads in apparent disgust.

Sonny was also shaken by the public display and the “outing” of his sister. Once the food arrived, he wolfed down his double-sized cheeseburger, fries and milk shake, excused himself and went to join the students who were to sit together as a group at the game. Cecelia and Karen would arrive later, having purchased separate tickets.

Karen was pleased to have a few moments with her mother, hoping to spend some mother-daughter time together. Karen needed to unload her worries about her relationship with Mark. Whether she wanted to share her other sexual liaisons with her mother, however, was a different story. She was not sure that her mother would understand; her behavior was becoming a bit shameful, wasn’t it?

*****
“I’m not sure you can do much more than you can, Karen, other than to give the boy a chance to heal from his injuries, both physical and psychological,” her mother said when Karen finished telling her how Mark had rejected her and how she had responded.

“That’s what his mother told me, too.”

Both women had decided to violate their diets for the evening and each ordered a slice of the restaurant’s strawberry covered cheesecake, a specialty of the house. They both enjoyed it as a bit of guilty pleasure, giggling over their love of the “sinful creation,” as Cecelia called it.

“I think he still loves me though, mother,” Karen said.

“I know, honey, and you’ve told me that several times.”

“He says he just doesn’t me wasting my time on a cripple, like him,” Karen said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just want to cry when he talks like that. It’s like he has no hope.”

“The early days after such an injury are so tough for a person, Karen,” Cecelia said. “I’ve seen it in the hospital many times. Patients just think they’ll never get any better, but in most cases, they soon start healing and soon those days of despair of almost gone from their memories.”

“But he may never walk again, mother.”

“Maybe, maybe not, Karen. Just keep writing those letters. I know they’ll help him through this, dear.”

“That’s what Mrs. Hamilton says, too.”

Cecelia Hansson smiled at her daughter: “She’s right, of course, darling. She is a wonderful person, isn’t she?”

“Yes, we’ve become very close during all this.”

Her mother paid the bill, and the two charged off to the basketball game; as they passed the table of the Thompson family, Karen paid a point of waving an almost brazen hand at them and saying: “Nice meeting you again, folks.”

She heard a mumbled reply, too garbled to understand. It made no difference; Karen felt she shouldn’t worry about folks like them and what they might think or say.

*****
As it turned out, the state tournament basketball game became the occasion of the “coming out” of Karen Hansson as a girl to many of her onetime high school friends and acquaintances, as well as to many adults in the community. Karen had been so excited about spending an evening with her mother — as well as the game — she had not realized until the two approached the gates to the huge basketball stadium that she’d be running into others from the community in which she grew up, and in which her mother — due to her growing status at the hospital — had gained more and more recognition.

There was still a chill in the air as Karen and her mother rounded a sidewalk amid a surge of young people, parents, grandparents and fans, as they all jostled to position themselves to squeeze through the entry gates.

“Oh Cece, is that you?” said a middle-aged woman, wearing a jacket in the black and gold colors of the high school team.

Karen and her mother turned to greet the woman and Karen was shocked to see Whitney Roberts, wearing a black-and-gold team jacket. Whitney had graduated with her from the high school, having won several letters in both basketball and football.

“Emily, how nice to see you? Coming to cheer the team to victory?” Cecelia replied, shouting over the noise of the crowd.

The crowd jostled them together, placing Karen tightly against Whitney.

“You bet, and Whitney’s team never made it to State so he’s eager to cheer the boys on,” the woman said. “Oh and who is the lovely girl with you?”

Karen began to blush. “My daughter, Karen. She’s a student here.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a daughter? Didn’t your son graduate with Whitney last year?”

The crowd’s pressure grew as the two family groups moved ahead to pit through the turnstiles. By now, Karen and Whitney were so close to each other she almost could feel the boy’s hot breath; Whitney eyed her closely.

“Yes, I did graduate with Whitney here,” Karen said loudly.

“You did?” Whitney said. “How could I miss you then?”

“You didn’t. I was Kenny then and we were in lots of classes . . .”

Suddenly, Karen was being pushed through the turnstile, and Whitney and his mother were lost in the crowd. Karen her mother rushed to their seats, which were in a section of others from their community, and Karen knew there’d be more encounters that night.

“I’m proud of you, darling,” Cecelia Hansson said, speaking directly into Karen’s ear to made herself heard over the din of the crowd. “You handled that well, honestly and directly.”

“Oh mom, that was awful. I didn’t know what to say. It just popped into my head without thinking.”

“I know, dear, but honesty is the best policy.”

“I wonder what Whitney might be thinking, mom. Even though he was a jock, he was always nice to me.”

“He seems like a nice young man. His mother is president of the nurses’ union at the hospital and she and I argue lots about issues at the hospital, but I’ve always liked her. She’s tough, but always tries to do the best for her members, while aware of the well-being of our patients. She’s an R.N. herself, and still works a few shifts, so she knows what it’s all about.”

They were surprised few minutes later to see Whitney and his mother take seats just two rows ahead of them and a bit to the left; because some of the seats were still empty as the crowd moved into their seats, Karen could see Whitney turn back to loOK at her. He gave Karen a wave accompanied by a smile. Karen waved back.

Before the game started, Karen found herself the subject of a few stares, some nodding of heads and even some lecherous views by young men; she knew some were speculating about the “pretty girl” with Mrs. Hansson. She saw two other former classmates, but neither of them seemed to recognize her as the former Kenny. Fortunately the game’s excitement soon became so overwhelming that the crowd’s interest was focused totally on the boys in black-and-gold and their soaring and then waning fortunes on the floor as the score see-sawed back and forth. Karen, too, was swept into the action.

At halftime, Karen left her mother and found her way to the ladies’ restroom, taking her place well-back in a quickly forming line into the facility. She looked at the nearby men’s room, seeing the constant flow of men in and out of their facility, while the women’s line moved ever so slowly that Karen began wondering whether she’d get back in time to see the start of the second half.

“This is the only time I wish I was a man,” a young woman, obviously a college student, said. She was standing just ahead of Karen.

Karen giggled. “Yes, being a man does have some benefits.”

“Yeah, like more pay besides being able to take a quick pee,” the woman said. She was clad in a team jacket from the opposing team, was about Karen’s height with dark eyes and long-flowing black hair.

“I know what you mean,” Karen said. “I’m studying sociology and I’ll never get rich that’s for sure.”

The girl laughed. “You’re right about that, and I’m not sure I’ll do much better. I’m in a business course, and I’ll maybe be lucky to get a receptionist job.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” Karen said, enjoying the repartee. “I thought businesses were trying to put more women into management.”

“That’s what they’re telling us, but I’ll see if that really happens.”

“Hmmm,” Karen said.

The conversation ended as the two finally entered the busy, steamy restroom and waited their turn for a stall.

Karen and her mother were clearly exhausted from cheering and tension by the time the game ended with a three-point basket by Jeffrey Becker with less than five seconds to go, winning it by one-point for the black-and-gold clad team.

“Hey there,” Karen felt her arm being tugged as they joined the crowd surging for the exits.

“Oh hi, Whitney.”

“Mom and I are stopping at the Pancake House for something to eat now? Wanna join us?”

Karen looked at Whitney, wondering why he was so interested in inviting them. Emily Roberts soon joined up, stating: “Yes, we’d be honored to have you join us,” she said, addressing both Karen and her mother.

Engulfed by the crowd, the four said nothing until they were out onto the wide expanse of concrete that surrounded the stadium, and could stop and talk. Cecelia Hansson finally said, “That’s kind of you, Emily, but do you think union and management should be fraternizing?”

“Of course, Cece, we’ll just talk basketball and besides we can go ‘dutch.’”

“OK, is that OK with you, Karen?” her mother asked.

Karen felt trapped; she wasn’t sure just how the after-game snack session would go, particularly since Whitney had been eying her ever since they met. Was his constant examination of her due to curiosity, or did he have other ideas on his mind, she wondered.

“Of course, mother,” she said, forcing a smile.

*****
Whether by design or happenstance, it developed that Karen ended up seated on the window side of a booth at the Pancake House with Whitney piled in next to her, their thighs so close that Karen felt she could sense the heat from his legs. During the walk over, Whitney was the perfect gentleman, taking her arm to guide her safely across streets and opening the restaurant’s door for her. He toOK her coat and hung it up on the hooks that were set on poles at the end of the booth seats.

“Did you like the game, Karen?” the boy said once they were settled in the booth.

“Oh yes, I’m still out of breath from the way it ended. That was so emotional.”

“Me too, I was so afraid they might blow the game,” he said.

Remembering that Whitney had played on the school’s team last year, Karen said: “I bet you wished you’d have had a chance to play in the tournament.”

The boy smiled at her: “I don’t know, Karen. I think I’d be scared stiff to be out there on the floor in front of all those people.”

“Oh posh. You’d do fine, I’m sure. You were our starting guard and I thought the best player.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Karen, but we weren’t a very good team, and I could never have defended that guy on the other team tonight as well as Pete McCall did for our guys in this game. I wasn’t fast enough.”

“I thought you were pretty good, Whitney,” Karen said, patting the boy’s arm lightly.

“I did get invites to play at some smaller colleges, but I really wanted to come here to study economics and politics,” he said. “Besides those small places offered little or no scholarship aid to play basketball.”

Karen’s mother and Mrs. Roberts had been deep in conversation, but stopped long enough to overhear the exchange between the two young people.

“I think he wants to be a politician, dear,” Mrs. Roberts said, interrupting their discussion.

Karen eyed the boy closely, then said, “Well, I think he’d make a good politician. He’s so good-looking.”

“Good looks is one thing, dear,” Emily Roberts said. “He’ll need some brains to go with it, maybe even a law degree. So he’d better tend to his studies.”

“Oh ma, quit nagging,” Whitney said. “What else I need when I run for office is a pretty wife like . . . ah . . . ah . . . Karen here.”

All Karen could do was to laugh out loud at the comment, and her response seemed to tickle the other three who joined in the laughter.

“Sure what’s wrong with that? Isn’t she pretty?” Whitney said.

“She’s lovely,” his mother said.

Karen thought it wise to put an end to this absurd conversation. “Look people, I’m still not a girl yet. My drivers’ license still says ‘Kenny’ so a marriage proposal is a bit premature.”

Whitney was speechless for a moment, marveling at the openness of Karen’s comments about her own gender situation.

“Besides, I want to marry a Democrat,” Karen added.

“What else could I be?” Whitney said, leaning over to give Karen a quick kiss on the cheek.

Cecelia Hansson said: “That’s the one thing Whitney that your mother and I agree on, and that’s our politics.”

Emily Roberts nodded in agreement.

By then the waitress arrived with their food, which included an apple pie ala mode for Karen; pancakes and sausage for Whitney; cheesecake for his mother and strawberry schaum torte for Cecelia Hansson. Karen couldn’t help notice how nervously the waitress acted in serving the food, recalling her own first days on the job. The girl was obviously a college student who had never before waited tables, and her hair hung haphazardly down her round, chubby face. She had a stocky body whose curves challenged the tight-fitting waitress uniform. A slight cleavage showed above the bodice of her peasant blouse, accentuating her ample breasts. It was obvious that Whitney was looking intently at them as the girl leaned in to place the plates on the table.

“I saw you looking at her,” Karen teased Whitney, once the girl had left the table.

“Listen to her,” he said to the two mothers sitting across from them. “Nagging like a fish wife already.”

Karen gave the boy a playful punch in the arm.

“Now children,” Emily Roberts said.

The group was silent as they settled into eating their snacks, before Whitney said:

“I really can’t believe you’re the same person I knew in high school,” he said. “It’s just like you’ve always been a girl.”

Karen smiled. “Thank you, Whitney. I think I always was a girl inside, but somewhere along the way my genes got all mixed up.”

“You’re so dainty, but then you never were too husky, I guess.”

“No, Whitney, I wasn’t and I always felt so out of place as a boy, too. It was tough sometimes and I got teased a lot, but you were always nice to me.”

“That’s how we taught him to be, to be respectful of everyone, and to understand that every person is different,” Emily said.

“I’ve always enjoyed the few times we talked when you were Kenny,” Whitney said. “You weren’t boring like some of my friends. All they talked about was either sex or video games; I remember you and I got into an argument once in class about national health insurance. Remember that?”

“Yes, that was in the last semester of U. S. History with Mr. Rhodes,” Karen said clearly recalling the debate. “We had two groups put together and I represented the ‘no’ side and you the ‘pro’ side. And we both ended up doing most of the arguing.”

“I got so mad at you,” Whitney said.

“Yeah, I remember, we even continued the argument after class,” she said, beginning to giggle.

Whitney laughed. “We sure got hot at each other then, but I liked that. I told mom about that discussion and she excused you by saying you were just reflecting your mom’s thinking, since she was a hospital administrator.”

“That wasn’t it, but I just got wrapped up in the argument, and I got so mad, too,” she said. “You were insufferable.”

“I was? You were even worse.”

“Now children,” Cecelia interjected, hoping to head off a fight.

Karen and Whitney looked at each other, almost simultaneously beginning to laugh. She gave him another light punch in the arm, and he feigned being hurt.

“Actually,” Cecelia said, “I think we all four probably agree on the health issue, in spite of the debate you two had in class.”

“Yes, we do,” added Emily. “Even the hospital administrator here thinks a national health insurance plan is good.”

Later, as Karen walked her mother back to the hotel, they agreed it had been a fun night, that Emily and her son Whitney could become great friends.

“He wanted my phone number, mom,” Karen said.

“Did you give it to him?”

“Sure, why not? I said we could be friends, although I told him I already had a boyfriend. I think he was disappointed, but I think he’ll call me anyway. He’s smart and so much fun, although I do think we’d fight if we ever got together.”

“How do you know that, Karen?”

“Well don’t you and Mrs. Roberts argue all the time at work?” Karen asked.

“Yes, we do, but that’s the nature of our jobs. We still like and respect each other, though.”

“Well, Whit is much like his mother. He’s a fighter for what he believes in and that’s good, and I think I might be like that, too.”

Her mother smiled at her; they hugged each other at the hotel entrance, and Karen walked in quick steps to her new residence. Even though there was a heavy campus security presence, Karen realized she was a vulnerable girl walking alone in the dark; she had her pepper spray ready in her hand, though, just in case.

As she walked, her mind bounced around, thinking how nice Whit had been (she had begun calling him that as the evening had worn on.) She thought, too, about the fights they would have and the fights would likely be about politics, not so much over a basic philosophy, since they both seemed to have the same instincts, but rather about specifics. They both seemed to have, she thought, obsessive tendencies and they might sometimes conflict. Then she realized, too, how much fun it would be to make up. She was certain they’d have naughty times together, and it excited her. Yet, she suddenly berated herself for having dismissed from her thoughts her love and concern for Mark, struggling to walk again and perhaps lying depressed in the rehab center some 90 miles away. How could she betray him?